#and i sort of desperately wanted to put something soft and kind into the world today

[buskingalbatross]

wrote a short fic today about dnp playing the board game wingspan back in january when phil was sick with laryngitis.

[pastlivesxpastlie]

⋆˚₊ show me what you are ⋆˚₊

enemies with benefits vessel x f!reader

summary: you despise your friend of a friend vessel, and he despises you. but you quickly learn you have more in common that you ever thought.

7.4k words

tags, head's up, etc: SMUT, soft sub!vessel, soft domme!reader, lots of antagonizing one another, enemies to lovers, established enemies, casual arrangement, making out, idiots in lust, sexting, masturbation (m + f), praise, dirty talk, pet names (puppy, mommy), cockwarming, cowgirl, pronebone, squirting

a/n: I'm nervous about this one. I've been working on this before I started feeling depressed and I just want it out on the world. Also, in the (paraphrased) words of @rat-that-writes "he could never hate me. I'm too hot."

You’re minding your business at a cafe when he comes in. You lock eyes like you normally do when you happen upon each other. Blank, dead eyes. Face so flat it’s not even a scowl. Sighs. Vessel. A friend of a friend of a roommate of a friend. And a thorn in your side. Ok yes he’s very smart…and witty…and talented…but it doesn’t make him any less arrogant and annoying to be around. You two run in the same circles but that doesn’t mean you hang out. You just exist, for better or for worse, in the same space. No one could understand why you and him didn’t get along. You two weren’t so similar that it was grating, but you also weren’t so different that you were unable to find common ground. But there was something in the way of you two connecting. Of feeling anything other than hate. 

You look back down at your book until you hear the chair across from you scrap across the floor and someone slump into it. 

“I need you.”

You take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of your nose. You look up at Vessel and notice he’s staring at you expectantly. 

“Say something,” he says somewhere between a plea and a demand. 

“What are you talking about…you ‘need’ me?”

He looks down. “Uhm, well, you see…”

“Ves…spit it out.” You’re trying to keep your voice down as more people come into the cafe. Why couldn’t you have had this conversation at the party you both attended the night before? 

“I…fuck. I have…needs and…”

“Oh Jesus Christ.” You roll your eyes and crack your neck. “It’s 10 am…”

“No, let me…finish. God. I…have needs and I don’t really…want to look far. To get them met. Do you understand? Uhm…I..”

Is he asking for…?

“Use your words.”

He doubles back a little and licks his lips. Why do his eyes look watery? “Yeah. Yeah I'll use my words. Uhm. I was wondering if you’d be interested in exploring something sort of…loose with me. No strings.”

You laugh out loud from shock. “Is this a sick joke?”

Oh his little heart breaks when you laugh. You can see it. His sweet face drops. “No…no oh my god. I would never joke about this. Look. Hear me out. I…hun I am desperate. I need to just…” he puts his hand to his forehead… “I need the companionship…and the release…but I don’t have it in me to look for a relationship. Not right now and perhaps never.”

This is the first time you’ve seen him vulnerable and quite frankly you could get used to it. There was something about his voice that was different. Calm. Normal. Sincere. But you still feel that pull towards aggression. Instigation. “And someone you actively despise and harrass is your top pick for a fuck buddy?”

“I know we argue a lot!” he barks back. You shift uncomfortably as a couple at a nearby table glare at you both. Vessel clears his throat and lowers his voice. “We don’t get along. And what I’m asking for is a bit much…maybe we just…pretend for a bit? Every once in a while?” He gulps and shakes his head. “I’m genuinely pathetic, I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m being a fucking knob.”

You cross your arms and consider what he’s saying. “So you’re asking to have some kind of…situationship with me…without ever trying to be nice to me first?”

He wipes his hand down his face and groans. “I…fuck it. Yeah I am. I am here groveling and asking you to sleep with me every so often so that maybe I don’t do my own head in. And, also, I just thought maybe…since you’re…pent up and shitty like me. Maybe you’d like to have some fun every once in a while? It would be mutually beneficial. Our mouths would be busy, eyes closed. Maybe we wouldn’t even know it was the other.”

You scoff. “What is that supposed to mean? Pent up…” you straighten in your seat. But you knew exactly what he meant. You were high strung a lot, and Vessel made an excellent target for your frustrations. How could two shit stirrers find any kind of solace with each other? But…you didn’t have any other prospects banging down the door (or you). You put your hands up in surrender. “Ok. Ok. I’ll bite. Yeah…fun would be nice…”

“Right…yeah, yeah. Because I get the impression it’s been a minute for you and…”

“Dude, come on!” You interrupt. 

“Look,” he shakes his head and looks away, “you’re a nice girl when you want to be. And maybe if this arrangement is with you…someone I don’t really see often or whatever…” he finally looks you in the eyes.

~

That next Friday you’re in his flat for the first time. You sit on the couch awkwardly as he brings you some water and plops beside you. Ves bites the inside of his cheek. No one has really made any moves but first times are always awkward right? No matter what was going to happen tonight, it would be a first of some sort. The first time you’re nice to each other. The first time you really touch each other. “You look pretty.” He says sheepishly. 

You look down at your baggy band tee and short yoga shorts. “Don’t lie to me.”

“My god just take the compliment. We’re here just trying to have a good time and…”

“Ok ok. Thank you…Ves…that’s sweet of you to say.”

He turns a bit more towards you, searching your face. His eyes trace your body head to toe as he tries to stifle a small smile. This was his idea and yet he still doesn’t want to show you how much he likes looking at you. Being around your pretty self. You suddenly start to feel nervous as he scoots closer to you. He curls his long legs up underneath him and gently touches your arm. You study his fingers like they’re some harmless little bugs before bringing your gaze back up to his face. He’s not ugly. No. You just never think about his looks because he’s so annoying to you. But here you both are, looking at each other in quiet fascination. Your breath hitches.

“Why me, Ves?”

“Why not you?” Vessel rolls his eyes and moves a little closer and puts his hand out tentatively near your thigh. You gulp, pulling his hand to rest on your smooth skin. His hand rubs gentle strokes against you and his breath deepens. “You feel so good. God.”

“Yeah?”

He bites his lip and looks at you so dreamily. You chuckle. The world stops for what feels like the hundredth time since you’ve gotten here. You feel your head spin a little as he looks at you with what you want to call “desire,” but how could you two ever feel anything other than disdain? Vessel clears his throat slightly. “You can back out…before everything changes…”

“Everything’s changed already, Ves.”

His hand moves up your thigh and squeezes, kneading your soft flesh. He hums contently when you move closer, nearly on his lap. You were wrong when you said everything had already changed. It actually changed the moment you two instinctively moved closer. Not a kiss, but a hug. At first it was tense. Like siblings being told to hug it out. But soon the awkwardness wasn’t the most distracting thing. It was how he felt to you. Sure he was lanky and toned, but he had a softness. A gentleness in how his arms pulled you close and enveloped you. It made you feel like the tiniest thing. And you could tell he enjoyed it and wanted to relax. As he loosened up, he held you closer. He breathed you in. You swear you could fall asleep until he drags cheek and nose up your neck…it reminded you of an animal scenting something. Or maybe he wanted your essence on him. He starts to speak in a barely there whisper and then clears his throat.

“May I, please, start kissing you?”

You gulp. The hug alone aroused you, and the thought of kissing him made you feel completely brainless. “Yeah,” you whisper thickly. 

Vessel places small, gentle kisses in the crook of your neck, taking his time and breathing deeply between each peck. His lips are naturally pouty and feel so soft on your skin. He lets his lower lip drag up to your jaw before placing a delicate kiss right by your earlobe. You would say you don’t know what to do with your hands but they move on instinct. One gently squeezes his waist as the other traces lazy patterns on the back of his neck. 

“I love how your nails feel on me,” he whispers. He sounds like a different person. He’s actually lost in you…and you would know because you’re lost in him. You let your hand drift up to his hairline where you begin to scratch his scalp. His head falls back; his eyes closed and lips slightly parted. You chuckle softly and move both hands to his hair. Eventually you’re in his lap but you’re hesitantly to really relax. “I’ve got you. Have a seat, love.”

You start to feel nervous and the nasty voice in your head that says you’re not worthy and perfect for this kind of situation gets louder. “Is it because I’m easy? Do you think I’m easy?” You blurt out. So many times you’ve been taken advantage of and it wouldn’t even surprise you if this was one of those times where you were in the right place and desperate. 

Vessel’s eyes open, and he looks at you completely lost. He leans forward and helps you cross your legs around his waist. “You… darling…are one of the most difficult people I’ve ever encountered. It must really mean something if you’re here…in my flat…nestled on my lap. And I’m grateful. Thank you.” He begins kissing your neck again but with more fervor this time. More need. Your back arches as his kisses become wetter and his hands knead your plush thighs and ass. It’s no use. You give in to instinct and gently move his face to yours but you both stop. Your noses touch but the realization starts to set in. As quickly as you came together, you’re pulling apart.

“This isn’t the move, is it?” You ask, getting off his lap and smoothing your hair back.

Vessel inhales and rubs his face, groaning. “No. It was a mistake. Besides, you gave me that look.”

“What look?!”

“Oh don’t play dumb. You know the look. The one where you watch me flounder when you could help me.”

You scoff and stand up. “Wow you’re catching on. That’s how I always look at you.” You start to walk towards the door when you turn back to him. He hasn’t left his seat on the couch and doesn’t seem to care to do so. You’re not quite sure what you’re feeling. Arousal, but also annoyance at how quickly the mood changed. Certainly it was Vessel that ruined it, right? You feel that familiar stirring. To project. To rile him up and tear him down. 

He stares back at you. “You’re as pathetic as me. Don’t forget that. You wanted this too. You probably still do.”

Him being both right and cruel about it ignites a white hot rage inside you. You want to scream at him

ask what you did to deserve this from him. To ask him why he makes himself so easy to hate. But instead, you leave. 

...

A week later you’ve kept your weird interaction with Vessel in the back of your head but until then, you couldn’t give two dicks. It was the weekend. And it wasn’t like you to be at a bar like this. Metalheads. The hottest, tiniest goth girlfriends you’d ever seen. You felt out of place but your friends said “noooo we should go! It’s something different to do.” So you put on little black dress and Dr Martens and said “fuck it.” And you were glad you did because a new environment also meant new guys…and to your surprise you actually got some positive attention. 

You found yourself chatting with a guy at the bar as you waited for your drink. He was friendly and handsome enough; you had the ugly thought that maybe he was one of those metalheads who had never actually spoken to a girl, but that was quickly forgotten when you started a thoughtful conversation about a series you both like. And it wasn’t one of those conversations where a nerdy guy dominates and info dumps and corrects you like a jackass. It’s just…enjoyable. He finally starts warming up to you a little and lets his hand graze yours, laughing at your reaction when a sludgier song comes on. You bite your lip and giggle a little, flirting with him saying, “maybe I need someone to help me appreciate metal a little more.” Your hands briefly touch again, and he leans a little closer…letting his free hand lightly touch your waist. You play coy and back up a little. It looks like he’s about to get his phone out before his eyes trail up and behind you. You’re wondering what he’s looking at until you feel a looming presence and a wide hand rub against your back and shoulder.

“There you are, gorgeous. I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

Your jaw clenches into a tight, fake smile. That accent. You look up at your uninvited guest.

“Hello, Ves. I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

The cute guy you were talking to looks confused and maybe a little sad. Fuck! You facepalm and groan as Vessel waves to him nonchalantly. “Heya…alright, mate?” His voice is dripping in sarcasm. 

Your brain scrambles. “He just means I’d been up here for so long I forgot about the friend group” you say trying to save face. “Not just him. Definitely not.” Vessel squeezes your hip in feigned affection which makes the guy tsk, roll his eyes, and walk away. “Wait, I’m serious,” but he’s already gone. You scoff, ready to pummel Vessel who was easily a head taller than you and more than capable of overpowering you if you tried. You actually liked that guy and thought something was there.

“What the fuck was that?” You ask, eyes shooting daggers into Ves. 

He snorts and shrugs. This is no big deal to him. “That guy was a loser.”

“So?! What do you care?”

“Oh come now, babes. You would have annoyed that bastard to death…he could have never kept up with you.” That shit eating grin. God you could just slap it right off of him. You know that he would leave you alone if you just…didn’t respond. Ignored him. But something kept telling you to egg him on. To react.

“You’re such a dick,” you say, rolling your eyes and walking away. You make it halfway across the bar when he grabs your arm. 

“HEY! I came over to talk to you. Don’t walk away from me.”

“Wow, and how inviting you seem right now! Sabotaging my night and grabbing me. Is this the only way you can get girls near you?”

His brows knit together and he stands closer to you…so much so you’re looking straight up. “Sabotage? Did you like him that much? If you really, really wanted to go home with him tonight then why are you here with me? Also…” he leans down to whisper, “I didn’t have to do much pulling and prodding to get to you mine last week.”

“What the fuck do you want” you sneer. But you find yourself wanting to stay put. The warmth radiating from his tall form. His cologne. The intensity of his gaze. Your attempt at a makeout session last week suddenly replayed in your head very loudly. You snap back to reality when Vessel huffs with a terse laugh and looks away. 

“I hate to say it but…I wanted to ask you something. Ask you…for something…again.” You search his face for understanding. He can’t even look you in the eye but you can tell he’s humiliated. Tail-between-the-legs humiliated. Little-boy-caught-by-mommy humiliated. The pause is heavy. The ambient noise in the bar fades away when he looks at you. He tries to find words but they aren’t coming. “Fuck. Never…never mind, it's stupid. Have a nice night” He lets go of your arm and storms away. 

You’re left there with your jaw on the floor. Usually this tall arrogant nerd wouldn’t shut up giving you a hard time. Now he’s running away. Without thinking, you follow him outside the bar and call out. 

“Ves, what the hell was that?” You hate to say it but you actually feel concerned. Like you have to finally put down your senseless grudge and actually talk to him. ��Are you ok?” 

He looks out down the street. It’s a busy Friday night. Folks bar hopping, getting Ubers, whatever people who like each other do downtown, but it feels like it’s just you two. Your eyes bore into him, and he finally looks down at you. Blankly, but at least he’s looking at you. “I know how we can make the…‘situation’ work. 

“Oh? Other than bothering someone else?”

“Do you know what? This is your problem. You’re mouthy and always antagonizing to try to keep some hold over me…and I want all of it. I need you to keep being that way with me. Please.” His voice has dropped to a gravely murmur as his hands shake in clenched fists at his side. 

You two stare at each other for a moment too long. It’s uncomfortably intimate. You’re having a conversation without speaking and it eats at you. You should not want this. Not again. Not him. “What do you mean?”

He fidgets. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Are you kidding? You’re really going to stand here and ask me for something again without defining any terms? Without playing your part in whatever this sick little thing is?”

“If it’s so sick then why are you blushing? You blushed like that when I kissed your neck in my flat. You’re like me. Come on.”

You cock an eyebrow, realizing slowly what he means. “You like this…don’t you? Being put in your place?”

“You haven’t actually done it yet, but…if you did…we’d all feel better. Even if for a brief moment. An hour. An evening. Just…please,” he takes on that same pleading…groveling tone again. He means it. “I can’t…for lack of a better word and I know it’s stupid but…I can’t ‘show up’ and turn my brain off if we’re…equals or something.. So please…where do I belong? Tell me.”

The idea that this…dummy who antagonizes you wants to submit to you breaks your brain. But wait. 

“How did you even know to ask me about this, hm? Did you ask around…maybe even try to snoop on my socials?” Your voice isn’t harsh, but it isn’t gentle. Strict. Probing. 

The way he looks down and rubs the back of his neck, which suddenly looks biteable, is adorable. He gulps. “I uhm…I’m sorry…but I..”

You bite your lip and chuckle as he shifts from one foot to another. A couple walks past and gives you both a once over, which makes you stand closer to him. If he wants to feel claimed, you can try. Being in his personal space where everyone can see.

“I uhm…I heard you talking not too long ago…about…” he lowers his voice “about subby guys and…well..”

“Wooooow….so… been eavesdropping, eh, bub?”

He opens his mouth and only a little whimper comes out. “I’m so sorry.” He keeps looking down, but you reach up and guide his chin so he looks at you. 

“What a resourceful boy…” you say in a sticky sweet voice. “You were just dying to find something out to the point that you decided to sneak around? Was it fun? Little puppy sniffing around for clues…hm?”

Oh the blush that covers his face. The way his eyes sparkle. You know exactly when he overheard you wax poetic about submissive men to your friends at that party…because you knew he was there. You wanted him to hear…because you had your suspicions too. “Answer my question. Dig up your bones for me…did you have fun with your little secret mission?” 

He breaths shakily and bites his lip. Finally he nods…and gives you a big cheeky grin. “Yes ma’am.”

“Eh don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ Makes me sound old.”

“Oh sorry sorry uhhh I don’t mean to…”

“Ves…my goodness…it’s ok. You didn’t know.” You chuckle softly and feel like you’re looking at him for the first time. “Don’t be hard on yourself. And that’s my first order for you.” 

His back straightens a little and his pouty lips curl into a shy smile. “I can do that.”

“Good boy.” You can see his pupils dilate…his breath catch…his heart swell. Oh to be your good boy even though you despise him. 

Something inside you has snapped. Suddenly this insane “mutually beneficial” arrangement excites you. Having casual sex with someone you don’t like in the name of “some fun” was ok, but seeing now that he was naturally submissive made your head spin. This you could work with. 

“I will take a crumb. Honestly. Anything you’ll give me…even if this is the last time we talk about it and it falls through again…”

You put your hand up to stop him. “Stop that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winces when the word leaves his mouth. 

You smirk and brush his hair back a bit. Your nails lightly scratching his forehead. He wants to purr. To roll his eyes back and feel your nails all over him. 

“Look at you,” you whisper, letting your nails trail over his cheek. “Such a big baby. Aren’t you?”

“Let me take you home…please. Please…”

“No. Hmm. No, I don't think so. Not tonight.” 

He pouts a little bit but nods. “Yeah…yeah ok.”

“Mhm…be patient for me. Can you do that?”

He nods and bites his lip. You can tell he’s excited. “When we’re not like…playing or whatever…you don’t have to treat me any differently. It can be our secret. As we were, yeah?”

You take your time with this. You two rarely see each other as it is and like hell you’d mess with him in front of others. So things develop over texting and the occasional late night phone call…but usually texting. Talking on the phone leads to tone policing. Arguments. It’s best to just keep things borderline anonymous. 

Ves: are you too busy for me?

It was 10 pm. You were drinking wine in your underwear watching Scream. Technically, yes, you were busy. But you knew why he was texting and maybe it would be fun to indulge. 

You: I guess not. What do you need?

The response is instant. He was waiting for you.

Ves: nothing really. 

Ves: just wondering about you 

You: what about me?

Ves: what you’re doing. what you’re wearing. if I’ll ever actually get to be your good boy. feels like you want me at arms length all the time. Is that part of the fun for you?

What seemed like a fun flirty conversation has now turned somewhat emotional. You sigh, desperate to get things back on track. As you try to formulate a response, you get…oh.

The video’s thumbnail is dark, but you open it anyways. You hear blankets rustling and music being turned down as it becomes clear what he’s sent you. He’s laying on his back in bed; the blanket is pushed down to right below his belly button. You’ve never seen him shirtless…and now that’s all you want to see. Yeah he works out but he looks soft. Kissable. You can imagine how fun it would be to kiss down his neck to his tummy, telling him how pretty he is…making him feel small and fuckable. He starts talking…you can tell he’s nervous.

“Maybe this is too needy…too pathetic…I don’t know” he strokes his free hand mindlessly up and down his stomach, “but you like this. Maybe you want me to act out. Just tell me…please… Do you want me like this? Desperate…completely stupid…” As his voice trails off, he moves his hand down to his blanket-covered waist and palms…

“Oh shit,” you whisper as the outline of his cock comes into view and he speaks again. 

“I want you to want this…please…can I be needy for you?” The video ends just as he lets out a soft, breathy whimper. 

You compose yourself…or try to…and respond. 

You: look at you. Are you comfy in that big bed?

Again, the response is instant. 

Ves: yeah but I’m lonelllyyyyy. 

You: just pretend it’s me, sweetheart.

Ten minutes pass. Wait. Why are you sad he didn’t respond? Why do you care? Why…*ding ding*

Ves: ok, I did it. did I do good?🥺

Another text. A picture. What. A. Sight.

His hand concealed his now flaccid cock… but fully on show was his cum covered tummy. You choke back a moan and grasp your blankets. At this point you’ve forgotten who you’re texting and quite frankly you don’t care. 

You: such a good boy 🐶 you’re a hot mess, aren’t you? 

Crickets. Fucking. Crickets. You don’t hear from him for three days. You keep telling yourself it’s ok and not worth thinking about because you hate each other. It’s just mindless fun. Nothing personal. But then…it dawns on you. You’re technically in charge. 

You: come over  Ves: why? You: why do you think? be here at 8. don’t be a brat  Ves: 🧎‍♂️🐶 see you at 8

Right on the dot, he’s there. You’re hoping this doesn’t end the way it did last time. Necking in his lap before you came to your senses. But the energy is different. He stands close to and studies your face.

“What should I call you? When we’re…you know?”

“What feels natural? Other than ma’am…” you chuckle. Aw. An inside joke. 

He bites his lip and blushes. Why is he doing sweater paws with his hoodie? Such a slut. 

“I can think of one but…” he stammers, “not quite brave enough yet to use it.”

“That’s ok.” Your hands drift up to his chest, where you start to play with drawstrings of his hoodie. “Let me get you some water…do you need a snack before we get started?” 

He considers for a bit but shakes his head. “I can wait until you’re done with me”

You suppress a whimper. He’s in his subspace for you. Get it together. Also, easily entertained much? 

All he said implied was that he’d need sustenance after whatever you do to him because you’ll use him for all he’s worth. Very normal! Not worth whimpering over! “Let me show you my bedroom.” 

You gently pull let the hoodie’s drawstrings bounce as you let go of them. When you step inside your room he chuckles a little.

“Squishmallows eh?”

You give him a playful sneer, although any other time you would have laid into him. “Better get comfy with them if you want to do this.”

He’s already on the bed, shoes kicked off. He grabs one that looks like a shark and holds it to his chest. “Genuinely…your bedroom is really cozy. Thanks for having me over.” He says this as if it was any other conversation, but then he licks his lips a little. “I’m just going to lay here until you need or want me to do something. Is that ok?”

Well. You’re already straddling him before he can finish. “What have you been doing the past three days…hm?”

“I uh…” he stammers and looks up at you with watery puppy eyes. “Working. But…there were some things I didn’t do…”

“Yeah like talk to me.”

“Tsk. Stop. Just because we’re doing this doesn’t mean I’ve become a complete nympho. Honestly.” He rolls his eyes and looks away. “I was going to text you tomorrow anyways. I haven’t touched myself since that night we texted…haven’t…” he shifts under your weight and you feel a slight throb.

“Oh…is three days a long time for you? Hmm?”

He chuckles a little and squeezes the shark. “It’s…” he snorts when he laughs and hides his face. You move his hands and he chuckles a little more. What a beautiful sound. You realize you could recognize it anywhere and be better for it. “Yeah yeah yeah. It's been a long time for me. It’s usually everyday. Twice.”

“You gave up…six orgasms…for me? Of your own free will?”

“I wanted to do eight, gorgeous. I really did. But you texted and…”

“Well who said you were cumming tonight?”

He takes a deep breath and his eyes roll back a little. “My mistake.”

“No no no.” You lean down and kiss his forehead. “You did the right thing. Saving yourself up for me.” Your kisses trail down to his jaw. Fuck his soft and smooth. You gently nip at his earlobe and chuckle softly as he whines with pleasure. “You know what you are?”

“Hmm?” He lets out hazily. 

“A good boy. A good puppy. Coming when called. Obeying.” Your nose trails against his and you think for a second that this will be a repeat. You two will snap out of it. But he squirms again and pouts.

“I can be so good…please…”

“I’m not even doing anything to you yet…”

He groans as you slide off him and start palming his crotch. 

“Do you know how many times I got off thinking about that video you sent me?”

His cock bobs against your touch as he groans pathetically. “N-no…no idea. It wasn’t much…” 

You start to stroke him. Oh he’s needed this. His hips buck up into hand as he white knuckles the stuffed shark. Mumbled pleas fall from his pretty lips as you ask him what he’s hiding in his sweats. Your fingers slide under his waistband. His moans are whiny and whimpering. 

“Such a puppy.”

You slide his sweats and underwear slowly…just enough to free his cock. You gasp aloud. “Oh my goodness…Ves…look at you. Look. HEY.” You snap a bit to get his attention. His head is lolling back and you haven’t even touched his uncovered cock yet. “I said to look.”

He looks down and groans again as your manicured hands stroke him. You bite your lip and think about how exquisite it’ll feel inside you. The shark squishmallow is put to the side, and he comes up on his elbows. “Mmm..mm…your hands are so pretty. S’soft. Fuuuuck.” Your strokes are gentle and steady. His hips buck to control the pace but you gently flick his tummy. 

“Good boys don’t take.”

He pouts and settles into your bed. He seems to be enjoying himself. His legs twitching, his moans coming more often than not. But you wanted to play. You wanted his brain off. For now he was yours. You stop stroking. “Ves. Look at me.”

He whimpers when you stop and raises his head. The whimper turns into a strangled sob as the long string of spit from your lips coats the head. Your slow, teasing, wet strokes make his face contort like he’s sobbing. “Fffffff….uuuuCK! M-m-mmmm…mommy please.” You freeze and look up at him. 

“What was that?”

His face is all panic. “Oh my god oh my god no I’m sorry. It just slipped out…I’ll…fuck…no I’m so sorry.”

You lean forward and shut him up with a tender kiss on the lips. You allow his hands to trail over your ass and breasts, letting his touch linger a bit too long over your nipples. When you pull away, he’s blushing like crazy with hazy, dreamy eyes. “You’re such a good boy,” you whisper.

“T-thank you…mommy.” 

You slip out of your clothes and relish in his gaze. For the first time you don’t feel like he’s here to be your biggest critic…and you don’t need to mouth off to him. He looks at you with a dopey little grin. “Are you going to use me?”

You chuckle softly as you straddle him again. “You could say that. Make you my little boy toy. Would you like that?”

His whimpering keeps him from answering, probably because you’re teasing the head of his cock with your already wet pussy. “God…please use me. Please…it’s what I’m good for…I’ll make you so happy mommy I promise…please!!”

You blush and forget yourself for a bit when he brings one of his hands to his face. He looks adorable. He needs to be held. He needs kisses. “Give me a hand, puppy. Hold yourself still.”

He reaches down and holds his cock as you slide down. He hisses in pleasure and whines as you moan from the stretch. You grasp his chest as his cock disappears into your pretty pussy, your head thrown back and mouth wide open. Vessel’s breath is coming hard and fast as he touches you. He’s bottomed out inside you and he doesn’t dare move. You haven’t told him to. He needs to be good. The past three days won’t have been worth it if he fucks this up. 

You reach back and pat his thigh. “Bend your legs, puppy.”

“Yeah…yeah ok…” he groans out as he obeys. One hand holds his waist while the other trails under his hoodie. He whimpers and bites his lip as you toy with his nipple. 

“Lift your hoodie.” He lifts it only to expose his stomach but stops there. You tsk and pull it up so his chest is uncovered…mmm. “Look at my pretty boy…” you whisper as you kiss across his chest. You take in the warmth and natural scent of his skin…how he tastes under your little licks across his nipples…the texture of his skin between your teeth. A delicious chain reaction occurs when his cock throbs hard against you after leaving teeth marks on one of his pecs. “You’re being so good. I didn’t even have to tell you what to do.”

He looks at you hazily. You’ve only been cockwarming him, and he’s already empty headed. He nods dumbly but then yelps when your pussy clenched around him. 

“Tell me what you thought about that night…when you made the video.”

He gulps and holds you close to his chest. His cock is buried in your tight pussy but he doesn’t dare move.

“I..heh…I thought about being your seat. Your human mattress.”

You kiss and suck on his neck, admiring the red marks already decorating him. “Oh? You like being squished?”

“I thought about something like this. But you’re…you’re fucking me. You lay on my dead weight and then…” his cock throbs inside you and he whimpers.

“Shh I know,” you kiss his temple and nuzzle his face gently. “It feels so fucking good, huh? You like being under me like this?”

“Mhmmm…so safe…mm soft…fuck!” He holds on to you like he did with the shark plushie, his fingers pressing into your flesh desperately. He grits his teeth as he throbs inside you and whines. “Y-y-you’re so…tight. What the fuuuuuck.”

All this time you’ve been covering his face with kisses, grabbing his chin every time he tried to hide from your affection. His heels dig into your bed as he tries to keep himself from squirming and fucking you.

“Can you be still? Hm?”

“Ye…yeah. Yeah sorry…you just…aahhhh fuck…”

“Use your words, Vessy.” 

His eyes roll back and his back arches slightly. “Don’t call me that…makes me feel little…”

“I do have you pinned down…don’t I? You’re the one squirming.”

His eyes are glassy as he pouts. “Are you enjoying this? I…I…don’t feel like you are…”

You consider this for a second. 

“I don’t want to keep going if you’re not…” His eyes are desperate. “You need this too…fuck…please tell me you need this. You want this right? Please I’ll make you feel so good…if you just bounce on it a little. Please please…I’ll be such a good boy. You can lay on me and…and…I’ll just be a toy. I can take it…let me show you.” 

You don’t even realize you’ve started fucking him. Your hips roll gently, and he lets out an almost pained moan. His hips meet yours and your eyes roll back.

“Fuck…puppy…” your head and vision go a bit fuzzy as he bucks into you and…oh dear.

“Shit shit shit…I’m…I’m sorry…I’m cumming…baby…baby…” he bites his lip and looks up for reassurance as his hands mash you down further on his cock. He hates that he came so fast, it’s clear, but fuck it feels good. 

“It’s ok…cum for me…” you whisper. 

He lays back and catches his breath. You don’t move…his spent cock still trembling in your pussy. He whimpers pathetically.

“What’s wrong?” You ask. He’s clearly not just coming off his high. 

“Fuck I just….” He closes his eyes. “That’s so embarrassing. We barely did anything and I just…came like a fucking virgin. Go ahead.” He covers his eyes with his arm, “make fun of me. Tell me how pathetic I am.” Wow. He already wants to go back to normal.

“No. I don’t think I will.” 

You’re still on top of him. Cockwarming him. You gently move his arm and look at him softly. His lips twitch. Not to kiss you, but to try and smile. 

“You feel nice on me,” he whispers. “I really like your body. Even…even before we started this. Thought you were pretty.”

You chuckle a little and rest your chin in your hand. “Not sure why.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you know why I hate you?”

You shake your head and let out a little laugh. 

“It’s because you’ve made me realize I don’t have to be miserable. That I could be someone to someone else. But that requires…change. Taking care of my…stupid self. Being better. I can’t have you. You don’t want me as I am. Honestly. I’m a wreck. It’s better for you to hate me and only see me as a plaything.”

His hands trace lazy patterns on your back. How strange it is to have this conversation while he’s inside…but that doesn’t bother you as much as his confession does. 

“Vessel. Jesus. I…Ves…I can’t stand you because you’ve never been nice to me. And now you’re saying it’s because you like me too much, yet not enough to get over yourself?”

He winces and sniffs. “It would be easier, getting over myself, rather than trying to not feel something for you.”

You move his face so he’s looking at you again. “Do you want to leave,” you ask. “You don’t have to stay longer than you want.”

Ves cups your face and tries to steady his breathing. “No. No, I don't want to leave. I want to stay and pretend I’m not me for just a little while. Is that ok?” You stare at each other…your breathing syncs…your eyes search other’s face. He strokes your face and purrs softly as his cock begins to stiffen again. Each time it throbs, you whimper, which in turn makes him chuckle softly. His hand slides down to your ass. “I need you. You’re the only one I want to…be with like this.”

“You don’t want this with someone you love.”

His eyes bore through you. He huffs and bites his lip, leaving an indention you swear would break skin. “May I please…may I please fuck you again? Properly. The way you deserve.”

You gasp softly and nod. “Would you like to be on top, puppy?”

His inhale is shuddering and sharp as he nods dumbly. You slide off him and lay beside him on your stomach. Ves seems confused.

“A-a-are you sure? From behind?”

You nod and beckon him closer. He slides off his sweats but you tell him to keep the hoodie on. “How hard are you for me?”

Leaning against you between your legs, he lightly taps his cock on your ass. It’s heavy and feels warm against your curves. He kneads your plush ass and whines a little. “So lucky…I am such..a…lucky…fucking…boy….fuuucckkkk.” He presses into your gushy pussy with a long, pathetic moan. You press against him, and his grip on your hips becomes shaky. “GOD you’re so hot….fuuccckkkkkk.”

You chuckle and moan as he thrusts gently…just trying to create some friction without completely losing his mind. He leans down and you feel the draw strings of his hood tickle your back. You reach behind you.

“What is it?”

“Come here, puppy,” you whisper softly. When he does you’re able to grab the drawstrings…anything to keep him in place. Leash him. Your fingers grip the collar of his hoodie now, and he collapses into you. “You going to be good? Stay right here for me, hm?”

He can’t even speak…he just lets out whimpers and moans that sound like sobs. You can only gasp with each thrust as he blubbers about it feeling “so..so..so..fucking good.” He whines into your shoulder as you pull him closer but the hoodie. “Please…let me…let me touch…please…”

“Mhm…” you let out weakly as he ruts into you. His hand trails down and under you towards your clit. You buck back into him as his nimble fingers find your clit. Cumming on your tummy never came easy, but with an eager lover, you think now it could happen. No matter who’s fingers it was rubbing your puffy clit between his fingers. 

“Mm…baby…baby let me bad. Please I know…i know…i know… I’m good boy but please let me bad…”

You grip your pillow and groan as your pussy quakes around his long cock. He takes this and your slutty, high pitched moan as consent. He takes your wrists in one hand and grips them roughly. You would be concerned about bruises if you weren’t seeing stars from the way his cock’s head rubs against your g-spot. He lets out something like a growl as he fucks you faster and harder. You’re mashed into the bed and cumming for the second time as he grabs you tight and bites your shoulder. You yelp and moan pathetically.

“Ves you’re so bad….you’re so…fucking naughty….” You’re cumming again as you lift your ass like you want him to mount you even deeper. He takes a break just to feel your orgasm squeeze him and to catch his breath. You let go of his hoodie, and he quickly rips it off. A sharp spank lands on your ass…he hisses with pleasure as he watches the skin of your ass cheek pinken before he lands another on you. 

“May…may I roll you over…please” he asks as he pulls out of you and rolls you over. It’s almost adorable how he toes the line between the asshole you know and a precious submissive boy. He spreads your legs, putting one up against his chest as he presses his cock back into you. One hand grasps your tummy and the other holds your ankle for leverage. “You’ve ruined me…” he moans as your name falls from his lips. Over. And over. And…over. He nibbles and kisses your ankle as he presses hard on your squishy lower tummy. His gasps come hard as it’s quite clear he’s reaching his limit.

“Ves…you’re gonna make me…fuck…I’m…”

“That’s it. Please…I want to see it…I need it…you’re so …ffffucking gorgeous….” he grabs you harder and rams into you with a powerful groan, his eyes wild as he exhales and bites his lip. “You’re…you’re going to cum…so….FUCKING hard on me…you won’t be able to cum again without thinking about me…Fffffuuuhhh”

His face contorts as his second orgasm ripples through his entire body. The thrusts become short, hurried bumps against your pussy as your back arches. You begin to rub your clit in rough, hurried circles as he fucks his cum hard into you. His eyes are misty as he mumbles about what a pretty angel you are…how good you’re taking his dick when…oh god…

A few moments later, he’s pulled out of you, looking down at the mess you made. You had never…ever squirted. And this…well…Vessel did that. You had no energy to hate. To be mean. Everything was different now. “I…wow…”

“Ever done that before?”

You lay back and catch your breath, wiping your watering eyes, shaking your head. “No…so…thanks I guess.”

He rubs your thighs and chuckles. “You’re amazing. Do you know that?”

You smile up at him and chuckle.

“Christ, what?”

“You’ve ruined it.”

“Oh…fuck off..ruined what?” He laughs and runs his fingers through his hair.

“My plans to die alone and hate you forever…thanks a lot.”

“Likewise, sweetheart.”

[euphoricfilter]

the silent ‘i love you’

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au

summary: sometimes you don’t need words

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: fluff!!!! just very soft and nice and easy to read for tonight. intensional lowercase. sort of sleepy thoughts about love <3

where you can find my other works :D

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

some days jungkook simply felt like those three words weren’t enough. that the warm glow of his fragile soul couldn’t scream loud enough for your own precious existence to know how much he truly loved you.

that the whispered words of love as the both of you woke, or a gentle kiss before you both slept and met in your dreams— it simply was only the surface of how he felt. that the silent ‘i love you’ the both of you shared each day was somehow louder than the words themselves.

tender souls touching in a whimsical dance between your existence.

tangled so tight, unmoving, seeping out of you with that fluttery sort of love.

the kind of love that pulls a smile onto your lips at the mere thought of them. gentle touch enough to have your skin alight. obsessive, itching greed consuming every fibre of your being, needing them closer than humanly possible. bodies pressed together and heart beats in sync, tied together by a string of fate and life times you shared before this one.

and some days neither of you had to say ‘i love you’ but that didn’t mean the love wasn’t there. that either of you loved the other any less than you had the day before. or more than you would tomorrow. because it was ever-growing. blooming in both your chests, a flower that would live through all of eternity.

it would be him waking before you, purple and blue toothbrushes sat beside one another in the cup on the sink. or how on some days he’d pick your shower gel over his own. for no other particular reason that he loved everything about your existence, that he felt that little bit closer to you in the hours you had to part.

or remembering to tuck one of your hairties in one of his pockets, just in case.

the same hair tie you’ll find in the washing machine days later, smile tugging at your lips. because as much as you remind him to take everything out his pockets before putting them into the washing machine, there were things you could never get mad over. not when he thinks of you, even when you’re not there. a silent show of care that you never bring up because that was his secret to keep, dissolved into the back of your mind for safe keeping.

he likes to hold your hand as you cross the road, fingers interlaced. because he knows sometimes you get too caught up in your own head, unaware of the wider world around you. so he keeps you glued to the pavement before tugging you across the road. fingers squeezing yours when he knows the both of you are back to safety and you’ll let him pull you around, blind trust in him to take you where you need to go

you like picking him up from work, sat outside on a bench with a box of treats for the walk home. and he would indulge you, even if he had the car parked a block away. not caring if it would mean he had to walk the next morning. because he would never abandon those gentle moments with you, shoulders knocking as you kiss sweet cream from his lips, desperate to hear about his day just as much as you want to share yours

you liked to say ‘i love you’ through the stars. tugging him to the roof of the apartment building, legs tangled as you lay on a blanket.

you both look up at the sky.

so many questions slipping off your tongue. where you talk of fate and destiny and how you loved to believe that two souls so intricately intertwined like your own was probably crafted by something as beautiful as the stars, or another celestial being that just knew what the future held. speckles of fine stardust crafted and moulded, so, when you found a mortal body there would be no doubt he was the one for you, just as you were the one for him.

he likes sending you photos of cats. adopting the habit of carrying a small bag of treats around with him; though neither of you have a pet.

he remembers the frown that would tug on your face each time you’d come across a stray. and he’d stand there for as long as you like as your fingers pet over fluffy heads and behind furry ears. another silent vow of love to a lonely creature.

you liked to pack him lunches, hours spent in the kitchen of a nighttime experimenting, because you never wanted him to have a dull meal. and he’d sit there at the table, reading as a piano piece plays over your phone. not a word spoken between the both of you, and some nights you scuttle his way with a fork-full of something for him to try.

there was love in the tv shows you watched together, the music you shared, the space you both lived in. the closet was a muddle of clothes and accessories that he liked to steal from you just like you steal from him. racks of both your shoes line the entry way of the apartment, collection of mugs a sudden birthday tradition that will go on for as long as you’re alive.

you lived in his mind like you lived in the plants around the house. or the posters you’d put on the walls. and he lived in your mind with gaming consoles and photos of you hung up that he had taken, loved and forever cherished; thriving in the memory of you and how much he loved you then and how much he loves you now.

jungkook had tried to find a better word.

hours spent laying in bed, with your head on his chest, moon spilling into the room as he mulls over the thought of you.

how he likes how warm you are, how he likes sharing this space with you. that he’s glad he’s found you, grateful that you exist within the same time line as him.

your silly little stories of a wonderful sweet sort of love filling his own mind— because maybe you really were crafted for one another. and even if he forgets three simple words, the both of you know love lives within the sphere of your existence.

because maybe that’s what the both of you are when you’re together. maybe even in those moments you’re apart. perhaps you’re the epitome of the word love and that’s why all the silent ‘i love yous’ equal more than words ever will

[hughiecampbelle]

Baby Blue (Billy Butcher Oneshot)

Character/s: Butcher

Word Count: 1,014

Requested: Butcher fic request with Descriptions 16 (sing) and 43 (thunder and lightning) and Dialogue 5 (You're staring)? love your writing!!! - anon

A/N: My love!!! Thank you for requesting!!! My mind immediately went to the fluffiest place imaginable!! I love writing about storms and nature and the weather, I feel like I could describe it a thousand different ways, it brings me so much joy!! I hope you like it :D Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

Requests are open! 🔮

The thunder bashes her fists against the apartment windows. Tonight, she and her twin throw their duel tantrums. You are restless, checking the baby monitor, making sure they’re still asleep. Tossing and turning, he sleeps soundly beside you. Stonelike, dead, you watch his back rise and fall, thankful he is still breathing. Thankful he is still around. The rain falls in sheets. You can hear it crash into the pavement below you, the streets and sidewalks, alongside the midnight traffic. Everyone rushing to get out of it, to get home, somewhere familiar and dry and warm. The lightning flashes for a moment, a second, illuminating the bedroom. There’s no hiding from him. The room is messy. Laundry sits overflowing from the basket. His clothes are left in a trail leading to the bed. He’d gotten home an hour ago, maybe two, exhausted. He climbed in beside you, falling asleep quickly. There are toys, and clothes, and shoes strewn across the place. A suitcase sits opened, empty, by the closet. You haven’t packed yet.

You wanted one more night.

You don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until you wake up to the sound of crying. You pull the blankets back, moving quietly, not wanting to wake him, to disturb him. Through the hall, you find your way to the nursery. Butcher painted it for you before the baby was born, a soft sky blue. It was comforting then, but in the heart of the storm, it seemed dreary. Dreadful. He put together the crib too, swearing when he lost a tiny little screws, apologizing later. It made you laugh, though. He was so worried about being a bad influence. He even bought him a stuffed bulldog you both decided to name Terror. Terror slept in the crib with the baby. After two years, he’s been loved deeply. His missing button eye and frayed ears are proof of that. The baby wails, kicking his feet from under the blanket, fussing. Between sobs they call for you, their baby talk interrupted by gasps for air. You pick him up, hushing him, rubbing his back and reassuring him it would be okay. He was safe. The storm could not reach him. You stood by the window, showing him how the rain fell down the glasses. They're racing, you told him, showed him. Against your chest and shoulder, his body moved with his hiccups.

Butcher called your name. He sounded sleepy, urging you back to bed. When the baby had calmed down enough, when he was soothed enough, you walked back to your bedroom. You brought Terror, too. You placed him in between you, watching him smile up at Butcher. Your whole world was wrapped in this bed, this room. Outside the world was dark, brutal, unforgiving. The trees swayed in the wind, pulled to one side, the leaves torn from their mother's branches. Something in your breastbone spread, a kind of hurt one could only feel watching this sort of thing. You turned your attention towards Butcher instead. He shook Terror, barking for him, “biting” his chubby cheeks. The baby laughed and squealed. It was your favorite sound.

You listened to the thunder, the screaming, the fight she was putting up to be heard. You understood. You didn't like that it had scared him, the baby, but you got it. A begging to be believed. A sort of desperation. That's what everyone wanted. Lying on your side, you watched them, wanting this to last forever. Despite the bags under his bloodshot eyes, Butcher was all easy smiles. He whispered to the baby, afraid of anything louder. He placed his hand over their chest, feeling the flutter of their heartbeat. In return, he watched him, his bright, wide eyes taking him in. The baby cooed his name: DaDa, DaDa, DaDa. Drool seeped through Terrors ear as he spoke. His teething was coming to an end. You were grateful for this.

You're staring, Butcher says a little louder, pulling you from your thoughts. Sorry, you say, though you're not really sorry. His hair sticks up in all different directions. He's got a boyish quality to him you've always loved. He prides himself on having a hard outer shell, impenetrable, but the second he sees you and the baby, he melts. He's not as bulletproof as he likes to believe. Between you, the baby falls asleep eventually. You watch as you have watched Butcher: their chest moving up and down beneath his onesie. Neither of you talk, not wanting to ruin the moment. It's not often you get to do this: sit in silence, be in one another's company. It isn't often Butcher is content, serene. Instead he fills the space with jokes and quips. He doesn't do well without noise. He doesn't try it this time, though. You're wondering the same thing: how many more of these moments will you get?

Tomorrow, when the sun rises, he will go back to work. When he gets home, you won't be there. Neither will the baby. You will do as you have been instructed. You will pack a light. You will pack enough. You will get out of the city while there is still time. He's kept your family secret long enough, but Homelander is looking for you. He is looking for any excuse, any soft spot, any vulnerability to take Butcher down. You won't call, or text. You'll use another name, a different one, and you will disappear. If, not when, it is over he will find you. You're not sure how, but he promises he will. Everything he wants to say, every apology and fear and worry, they go unsaid. Not safe, but selfishly he wants to believe so. Foolishly, he wants to tell you not to go, not to leave him. That'd be silly. That'd be stupid. If you want your son to grow up, this is the only way to ensure that. He doesn't want to ruin the moment. Instead he fights off sleep, wanting to savor the moment a little longer. You and Baby Billy, together with him.

[villainbait]

Unexpected Inspiration

Pairing: Rafayel x reader Rating: E | Explicit | 18+  Tags: stalking, flirting, obsessive behavior, obsession, fantasizing, fantasy bondage, implied non-con Summary: Even though you’re not her, it would be all too easy and Rafayel plans to take full advantage of the situation. However, you don't play along quite like he planned. Word Count: 700~

A/N: I saw someone posting headcanons about rafayel stalking MC and it gave me an idea. This is just sort of me studying his psyche in a different way that's a bit darker. Hope you enjoy and thank you for reading. ♥

“I know, I know.” Rafayel whines, his lower lip jutting out even though the person on the other end of the line couldn’t see it. “I said I know, alright? I’ll stay away from her until the time is right like I promised. Don’t be such a killjoy.” 

He was standing outside the art shop, debating whether or not he wanted to paint. Everything had seemed so dull lately after seeing her on campus and he was desperate for anything to catch his eye. In fact, he had replayed the glimpse of her so much he was starting to hallucinate as he watched you hurry towards him before turning sharply and entering into the shop. Fate had never been that kind, but today she was cruel.

“Gotta go.” He hangs up the phone abruptly and follows you into the art shop, brushing his bangs from his eyes with a practiced gesture.

You weren’t her and a pang of disappointment shot through his gut. Yet, you looked so much like her that the two of you could've been sisters in this lifetime. As he followed you around the modest paint shop, he realizes that it has been hard for him to stay away from her and you…well, you came along at the perfect time. 

It was all too easy. 

You were looking at canvas options when he approached and asked what it was you wanted to paint. He could tell you thought he was attractive, but that was to be expected and he was unimpressed by your compliments. Though you shrugged off his casual touch, surely you were just shy. He made you laugh and could tell you were enjoying the unexpected interruption. 

However, after some flirting and fun banter he thought you’d be an easy mark.

But you just left. 

That bothered him. That irked him. He was put out by your soft rejection and easy dismissal. 

So he followed you, intending to soothe his injured pride, but something in the way you interacted with this cold, insipid world stopped him. He watched as you knelt to gently touch the petal of a flower growing in one of the many planters along the street, half-expecting you to pluck it. When you merely appreciated its violet beauty with the soft stroke of your finger before moving on, Rafayel hung back and found himself curious about a human for the first time in a long time. 

Rafayel was curious about you.

Rafayel dogs your steps over the next week and hits the jackpot, finding that you live in a quaint but cozy condo by the sea. He finds his thoughts dipping into dangerous territory, but he can’t seem to stop. In those brief moments he heard your voice over the last week, he couldn’t stop from imagining how you would sound writhing in pleasure underneath him. Would your cries be just as sweet? 

He slides his thumb idly across his lower lip just thinking about how you’d taste. How would you sound begging, desperate for release that he would continue to deny you? The mere thought of seeing you cry because of him made him more aroused than he’d been in at least a century. He knew you’d look so pretty all sprawled out and clinging to him, reduced to a needy mess that couldn’t even remember her name. 

The thought of you being tied up and helpless almost undid him as he leaned against the lamp post adjacent to your building entrance. Rafayel wondered what hues your pretty skin would turn once he unraveled you. Would your skin look mottled, an echoing pattern reminiscent of the foamy sea or would you simply flush a darker vermilion hue? How brilliantly those colors might translate to a canvas once he was done using your body as one. 

Feeling inspired, Rafayel continues to wait outside of your building, casually soaking in the waning sunlight and waiting to catch glimpses of you inside your apartment. For a while, he admires the way you set up your canvas on the balcony, preparing your paints with practiced ease before you finally sit down to stare out at the sea. 

He couldn’t clearly make out your expression from where he stood on the street, but the very fact you seemed to long for the same sea as he did made him want you with a sudden aching desperation. Rafayel had to have you. His mind made up, he saunters across the street, whistling a soft tune. 

There was no other way for this to end now. 

[adaptacy]

A little Johnny character study.

Warnings: Stalking, romanticized cannibalism, graphic gore, corpses, extremely fucked up mentality, unsettling stream of consciousness, a LOT of red flags, all around just a sickening version of Johnny as I attempt to solve the gaps in my understanding of him.

Seriously, if you're the kind of person who doesn't usually care about tags, this is one of the ones where you maybe wanna give them a glance.

He'd met her at a bar. Well- 'Met' was a loose term. She'd caught his eyes at a bar. She was pretty, but not special. He'd seen pretty before. She was talkative, but not interesting. He'd heard talkative before. And yet she'd still caught his attention.

But she hadn't heard his voice. He never did take a seat next to her, never did buy her a drink, never did take her home. But he watched. Watched as she finished her last drink, just sober enough to manage her drive back home, but too tipsy to notice the truck trailing behind her the entire way back. Too tipsy to notice it parked on the side of the road when she entered her home.

He'd stopped at the kitchen window, knowing it was far too dark out for her to possibly notice him. He watched as she flicked on the kitchen light, sorting through her fridge for something to eat. And then he left.

He found himself at her window often. When he needed to cool off. When she'd been on his mind. When he'd kidnapped a girl with the same eyes as her, with a similar shape as her. When he'd ripped into yet another meal, imagining it was her between his teeth. Imagining the sweet, metallic stench of her blood, the soft cries she'd release as he cut into her.

But all he did was watch. Watch as she twirled the cord of her phone between her fingers, chatting away with her mother. Watched as she ate another frozen dinner too late at night, all by her lonesome. Watched as she sat in front of a tv, curled up in her blankets as bloody images of fictional murders played on screen.

She didn't know fear. She didn't smell like fear. She didn't look like fear. But he wanted to introduce them. He wanted to see her lips tremble in terror as her face ran pale, he wanted to see her force her last breaths out in sobs, he wanted to see her shake beneath him, unable to beg for her life with anything more than gurgles, her words washed away by the blood filling her mouth.

But all he did was watch. He learned her schedule. Learned how she folded her laundry. Learned her favorite meal. Learned her nervous ticks. He could've had her.

He could've killed her.

He stood over her bed as she slept, silent and dangerous. She always put her spare key in the plant on her porch. Was she stupid? Oblivious to the dangers in the world? Unaware that she'd given him such easy access. And she slept, defenseless, helpless, inches beside him as he just watched. Watched the way her eyelids twitched, the way her shoulders shifted, noted every minute change in her breathing. He wanted to see it stop.

He wanted to see her lungs freeze. He wanted to feel her heart in his hand, wanted to taste her blood on his tongue, wanted to claw his way into her skin and hear her scream at the violation. He wanted her to run. He wanted to taunt her, he wanted to hold her as she desperately tried to squirm away from him. He wanted to watch her innocence disappear from her eyes, he wanted to watch as she gave in to the death he wrought upon her.

And he watched, but there was no fear. Nothing but peace. It made him angry. He could suffocate her where she lay. He could press his body against her as she tried to kick him off, he wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and feel her pulse weaken-

But he just watched.

And then he went home.

He'd pretend the woman in his basement was her. He'd drive his knife deep into the corpse, ignoring the stench of rotted blood as he added to the frenzied stabs. He'd pant, and heave as he jammed the metal in again, and again, and again. And he'd imagine her choking, coughing up pleas and apologies. And kicking at him, and suffering. He didn't know her name. He didn't need to.

He knew her character, because he'd watched. He knew her outside, and one day he'd know her inside, too. But for now, he sliced until he could see the grayed edges of her torn intestines, the flies around the corpse diving between the folds of the decrepit flesh at the chance for a new taste.

The skin of her face had already been peeled, and flies sat on the edges of the sockets where frayed edges of flesh had been left by Junior's shoddy sawing. That was fine. She didn't have a face. But she had the facial structure he'd dreamt of. And his imagination was good enough.

When he deemed himself satisfied, he removed his knife from where it was lodged in her softened liver and stood up, finding his hand wet with a strange, slick ooze. There wasn't any blood- not anymore. Just a strange, thin, diluted version of what once kept this woman alive. He shook his hand off and stood, wiping the blade of his knife off in the fabric of his shirt.

He used his foot to kick the body back into the position it had been, but he knew he'd ruined it far past being able to harvest anything off of the brittle bones. She was nothing more than a meal for the flies. And a terrible stench.

He hadn't fixed anything. No, he'd made it worse. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to see her expression when he revealed himself, lurking inside of the very place she deemed her safety. He wanted to hear her stammer as he crept towards her, asking who he was, begging for her life.

But he took a seat at the dinner table, once more being ignored even if he could feel the prying eyes on him. They knew he'd had another one of his fits, but they knew better than to ask.

Mashed potatoes for dinner. It left him thirsty. Left him lonely.

He didn't say anything when he headed into town, returning to the bar he'd met her at.

This time was different.

This time, he didn't watch. This time, he didn't wait. This time, he didn't fantasize.

This time...

"You look lonely, Darlin'. How about we fix that?"

"Oh? That's awfully forward. And who might you be?"

"The name's Johnny."

===

for clarification, no, he did not fuck the dead body. he just attacked it. pls dont get the wrong idea LMAO

[fatuismooches]

hi! i love how you write all the harbingers. i thought of an angsty-but-more-like-pining idea of reader falling for one of dottore's clones and not the original dottore. the reader is unaware of the clone situation and the clone (being the rascal he is) neglects to tell them about it (he also just doesn't like the idea of sharing). despite the insanity and callous nature of the clone, the two of them are in a relatively loving relationship.

the original dottore becomes aware of it and is insanely jealous of his clone, yet he can't dispose of the clone without garnering suspicion from reader. if reader happened to fall in love with a younger clone, the original dottore is even more annoyed: "how did they fall for my younger, imperfect self instead of the now glorious, flawless me?"

i'm curious to hear what you think about this idea and the antics the original dottore has to go through to get to reader and, hopefully, get them to love the current him instead of a mimicry of his past self.

The segment would probably meet you on one of his expeditions outside of Snezhnaya, how you managed to woo Il Dottore is anyone's guess, and really no one could ever figure it out. He wouldn't tell you that he is Dottore of course, it would lead to far more complications and he'd rather not deal with those. Is that selfish? Yes of course but what did you expect?

Eventually, it would get to a point where the segment would convince you to move to Snezhnaya because continuing a relationship halfway across the world isn't very fulfilling for either of you, and he can't keep sending letters by crow much longer before he actually goes mad from not being able to feel your touch, to hear your sweet voice and soft, reassuring kisses. However, the segment's change in behavior is kind of noticeable because all of a sudden he's the one who wants to leave the lab for general errands. This is for a few reasons.

One, to see you obviously, he tries his best to be discreet about it but, how can he not want to indulge in you when you're nearly at his doorstep? Finally, he has a reliable way of destressing after all the annoyances at his "work." Two, because of the slight chance that you may one day see one of his other selves and decide to speak to them believing that it is your lover. Now of course this wouldn't be good because your lover knows very well of the... tendencies of his other segments, they would probably want to pick you apart (like he did) and then hog your body and attention once they get used to you.

But still Prime would find out, he was once his segments too, he knows the quirks. However never once would he have thought his segment would have found love in his life. He knows his segments tend to do their own thing but this? Pure ridiculousness. It's funny because he would try to deny the segment's feelings for you, and therefore simultaneously deny his own feelings in a way. If the segment happened to be a young one, he'd write it off as his younger self being desperate for attention and acceptance. If the segment happened to be closer in age to him, well... he'd find some excuse!

Regardless, he doesn't believe it. But it's hard to deny reality, when he sees how happy you are with his segment, and he sees how happy his segment is with you. And he thinks, what about you has his segment so captivated? You don't really look to be worthy of his time, but he still knows his segment well and he knows you have to be something out of the ordinary for him to take interest. (Yes he stalks the two of you, but trust me he's not going to hurt you. You're just confused as to why your lover seems to be intensely eyeing random locations behind him.)

In the beginning, Prime Dottore feels no real attachment to you, rather it's a sort of feeling that he can't seem to stay away from. Curiosity? Maybe. Jealousy? Of course not. Prime Dottore would try to keep putting it out of his mind, he has far more important things to do that take interest in his segment's "toy" but your face pops up more often than not sometimes. However, eventually, he gives in and questions his segment as to what he sees in you. Said segment obviously doesn't want to answer but this is Prime. No one defies Prime.

Dottore would probably just show up in your house one day and you'd get a few mini heart attacks in the span of a minute - how did this man get in, *sees blue hair* oh it's my lover!, *realization* no it's not, *panic* there is a man eerily similar to my partner in my damn house. He'd be amused by your reaction which doesn't really help his case, but it's very similar to your lover's own reaction, which is comforting in a funny way. So while seem to be quite different, perhaps they share more similarities than they want to admit? Perhaps. Maybe.

Another thing I think would be funny is Dottore being his usual Dottore self and attempting to scare you off in the beginning, but you don't really have a reaction because your segment lover put you through a lot of this already. It really leaves him to think about how and what does he do because he's never been in a situation like this.

It would be more of Dottore trying to make you fall for him rather than the other way around, he has no need for such a frivolous feeling. Rather he wants to feel the pure satisfaction of making you love him. Unfortunately, it doesn't go that simply of course. He knows he's fallen too deep when he's in his lab alone, wondering what you're doing right now in your home, perhaps you're cooking? Or reading? Such a shame, if you lived here with him, he wouldn't need to wonder. He'd know. Wait. Live together??

It wouldn't just be Prime Dottore trying to do this, anything that catches their creator's attention is sure to draw theirs too, so it's kind of just a full package. Eventually you kind of just have a lot of blue-haired men examining the corners of your house for some reason. You hide behind your original lover while he shoots glares at his other segments, annoyed at how things have turned out. But oh well.

I've pondered a lot about this ask, and honestly, the whole concept is so delicious I don't even know if I can do it justice. I mean really it's TASTY. I write too much I think and this was all over the place.

[grxmoire]

enkiramus WIP under the cut as promised o7

There are some kinds of pain in this world that exist outside of description, that go beyond the capability of understanding and reason. They transform past agony until everything dissolves into a blank, all encompassing knowledge that it hurts. Enki is in pain, Enki hurts. Blood loss and shock are making the edges of his consciousness falter. He is aware that the pain is unbearable. A sense of relief floods him anyway. He is alive, and the pain is a blanket over all his other senses. He cannot feel the gnawing of hunger-- nor the dark that always plagues him in this place. He will miss the arm, but it’s a small price to pay for still being alive, still clinging to the damp existence his life has turned into. 

But it hasn’t ever been different from this— his life before the dungeon and his life in the dungeon are, fundamentally, the same. Always in the dark, clawing for the light, for knowledge. This is where he thrives. He can handle the pain, even if this brand of it is new to him. He can handle anything if it means finding the answers he is looking for. 

Heavy breaths disturb the air, thick, and still and suffocating-- he cannot tell if the shadows are moving because there is something in their inky depths, or if the oppressive darkness is playing tricks on him. If he were put into a position where he needs to defend himself, he would die. Patience is forced to override fear, to gather more knowledge before a conclusion is made. Strands of white gold peek from the gloom-- a parody of his own craggy, dirty, blonde, and he knows who lurks just beyond the light.

“Come out of the dark or slink back into it-- linger no longer, Nosramus.” There is blood rushing in his ears, soaking into his clothes and through the makeshift bandage and tourniquet desperately trying to keep a torrent at bay while the stump that used to be his arm heals. He thinks the alchemist says something, mutters words that do not reach him until he gets closer, and Enki can see his face.

Often, Enki had been called sickly, pale and rail thin and a step away from death… But Nosramus is pale like the moon-- stark bruises from too little sleep tug at his eyes, but they do nothing to shatter the ethereal beauty he carries. Nosramus is willowy and graceful, soft and beautiful is every place that Enki is sharp and cold. There might be a pang of jealousy— or something else that Enki refuses to name— were he to care about that sort of thing. 

“I didn’t want to startle you.” The alchemist kneels beside him, eyes lingering on the lost limb for a long, long moment. There is an emotion that passes over his face, that Enki cannot place. Something between guilt and curiosity, a sickening kind of enrapture. “It is a horrible thing… to lose a limb.”

[ineffable-endearments]

There seems to have been a little meta-commentary in Good Omens 2 about priorities.

Priorities? Is that the right term? Well, that's what I'm going with for now.

Anyway, there seems to be some meta-commentary about people's priorities being off. Aziraphale's priorities being off, with the whole cotillion ball. The audience's priorities being off.

Or maybe a better way to put it is that our priorities are premature. There's nothing wrong with them in themselves, but we've skipped some important issues that have to be addressed first.

Think about it - there are so many moments that look "fanservicey" on the surface, but that end up being problematic for the plot (the I'm Sorry dance), a moment of disconnect (the dance at the cotillion ball), or that simply foreshadow the sadness of the ending (Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy playing, but omitting the part about dining at the Ritz).

No, no, I'm not suggesting the creative team tailored an entire section of a story to address fandom trends; they were just telling the best story they could, universally, period. None of that stuff would be in there if it wasn't in the service of something much bigger. I'm also not suggesting that this commentary is a lecture, some sort of condescending finger-wag; more on that later.

But you can't deny that when all the pieces come together, the story resonates with that thing in us anyway - the thing in us that says, "I know it's Armageddon and I know the world is ending, but Aziraphale and Crowley really ought to have a romantic dance about it." And then the story tells us, "Nope. They can't do that yet."

Here's the other thing, though: even as it is told "no," that deep desire to see love as an action, love as the whole point, is validated. It is also treated with kindness and respect. Yes! Even through the sad ending of the season!

Through the dangers that Crowley and Aziraphale face in Season 2, the narrative patiently explains all the reasons why they can't be soft and romantic just yet. Their trauma histories won't allow it. Their world won't allow it. These are real, pressing problems. In fact, they're more real and pressing than I thought they were even in Season 1! Season 2 emphasizes just how much Crowley and Aziraphale were never going to get away from Heaven and Hell without a brutal fight of some kind. At the end of Season 1, I sometimes thought, "Oh, the great bureaucracy of the universe really doesn't care about these two, or even about Earth; if they really wanted to be together, they could be. And maybe Heaven and Hell will just lose interest in Earth." And Season 2 says, "Actually, here are a bunch of scenes demonstrating that they desperately want to be together, and here are a bunch of dangerous situations illustrating why they can't."

But at the same time, the love is there, in both Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley loves Aziraphale so much that he can't think of anything but safety for their new way of life; Aziraphale loves Crowley so much that he simply cannot consider that they haven't arrived at their happy ending yet. That love is the beating heart between our narrative's wings, the purring motor* in our narrative's Bentley. It's there, and it matters. The love matters so deeply.

I don't know. Maybe "priorities" was not in fact the right word to choose at the beginning there. Because there is no implication that there is anything wrong with caring most of all about love. It's just that love is a complicated journey, and you can't skip over the journey part of it.

*(Not my metaphor. Originally from Amy Gravino; too good to leave out.)

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

tarot face cards for Boyd’s,?

Steve Murphy: The Tower. Steve goes through the *wringer* in Narcos. Him and Connie uproot themselves from Miami for a country where they don’t know the language or culture. Connie’s cat is immediately cat-napped and cat-murdered. Steve gets kidnapped. His partner is soft-betraying him. Connie leaves him and takes their daughter. People he likes die!! He has to make a lot of unpleasant choices that often don’t turn out great for him! Upheaval, tragedy, violence, and pain is sort of the name of the game for him here!

Donald Pierce: The Moon. Pierce is very insecure! Holbrook says as much in several interviews; Pierce desperately wants to project an image of strength and confidence, and as the film continues that pretense is gradually stripped away. He’s deeply anxious – Rice kind of has to kick him into gear later on, and he’s also pretty damn intuitive – he *did* easily track Logan down, he puts together the nurses’ plan, and he figures out quick that Caliban is stalling them.

Cap Hatfield: The Hierophant. Although Cap might not seem like the classic choice for this, I absolutely think he fits! He’s got an unwavering dedication to his family (and the sort of patriarchal structure therein), and he absolutely shares in a lot of the traditional values of the era… and his family specifically. He’s sweet, but he’s their little foot soldier!

Clement Mansell: The Lovers. Clement is always searching for a connection, whether that’s with Sandy, or Sweetie, or Raylan, or Carolyn. (And he will absolutely make huge, impulsive decisions for the people he likes too.) Clement is *always* attempting to reach out - emotionally, sexually, physically. He’s not very successful, but not for a lack of trying!!

The Corinthian: The Devil. Beyond the obvious, that Corinthian in the waking world indulges his appetites to excess (and he’s absolutely very materialistic), there’s also the fact that his entire character arc is permeated by an extreme sense of hopelessness. He’s trying to claw his way to freedom the entire season, and not ever really gaining much ground. He’s dependent on other people helping him (John, Ethel, Rose), and he’s bound by the knowledge of what will happen when Dream inevitably regains his power and comes after him.

Eli Klaber: The Fool. Despite Klaber being… what he is, there is also an undeniable innocence to him. He’s very trusting, very naive, and very hopeful! He wants to go on a big adventure with his boss! And his trigger-happy nature absolutely plays into this too. He’s ~spontaneous~! I even think he can fit with this card representing a lack of commitments despite his extreme loyalty to Voller - he’s someone that seems adrift in every other aspect of his life, and (accordingly to Holbrook) joined up primarily because he didn’t have anything or anyone else.

Ty Shaw: Death. Ty has to deal with a very sudden loss, and he actually does handle it really adeptly. He vows to get revenge, but he states pretty clearly that he’s not gonna stop trying to enjoy himself and live life. He isn’t in denial about what’s happened - he does let go in a lot of ways, embracing Ben into the family, designating Abby’s room the new guest bedroom. And there’s something in that his story in the movie begins and ends with two different deaths.

Quinn McKenna: Justice. I get the sense that justice as a concept is something that’s very important to Quinn. He tends to be sort of rigid in his sense of right and wrong, and this results in him sticking to his guns even when it screws him over. He doesn’t like lying, he doesn’t like when people lie to him, and there’s something interesting that despite the way the Government involuntarily commits him, he *still* joins back up later. At the end of the day he believes in the rule of law… but it’s also never gonna let that stop him from doing what he thinks is just.

[comfortless]

"held back by a leash that no one’s ever thought to untie, constantly growling and leaping at anything that gets too close just to simmer down to whimpering and begging the second he’s pet just once" ??? 😩 This is so real and relatable (I'm crying in the corner of my room). Lord have mercy, I need to kiss every ridge and groove on your brain.

The way I giggled when you mentioned his fleshlight is crazy. I was actually thinking of saying something similar but then I decided against cause the message would've been too long. I was trying to decide if he would be the type of man to get one of those insanely realistic sex dolls. Maybe he felt particularly desperate to have something in his bed (something that can't just get their clothes and leave before he wakes up) or he would just be curious. If he actually got it, by being impulsive, now he has this thing in his house and kind of regrets it. Yeah, it's soft and doesn't look bad, but it definitely doesn't look like a real woman either. It gives him the uncanny valley effect and puts it out of sight for now. How would he even get rid of something like that? Is it recyclable?

I've got brainrot when it comes to this man, I know. I might start reading Letters to Milena by Kafka so I can yearn more accurately for a man that doesn't even exist. This time I have no nice poems to quote but I feel like Konig is very much Sleep token coded. Idk what type of music you like but their lyrics are yummy.

P. S. Your fics are like vitamin D + Omega 3 getting me through this shitty British weather with my sanity more or less intact. Lots of consensual kisses!

oh my gosh and you are more brazen than me because i thought the same, just… kept that to myself!

if he has the money why would he settle on some little silicone tube when he could at least have something to cuddle up with, too? it isn’t like he has visitors often (or at all), though there are some nights when he definitely feels pathetic and disgusting for having it: haphazardly shoves the doll in the closet and settles for his hand instead…

also much to ponder in regards to his impulse control…! for the most part, he probably considers himself to be pretty rational; reasons with every decision by thinking well, x happened so then comes y. his dating life is shallow at best and utterly devoid of anything at worst, it’s… reasonable that he would have some sort of outlet, even if he knows that buying the damned thing has basically sentenced him to never having any sort of stable relationship. if some sweet woman actually gave him more than just the time of day, if she actually wanted to be with him but… she sees that mimicry of a woman’s warmth lying in his bed? she’s either laughing at him or immediately making up some excuse to leave. and if that happens, then of course he’s got to find a way to get rid of it. he’s tossing it in a hole in his backyard or burning it. sorry environment. this is König’s world now and the sex doll can no longer be in it..!

he would never pull something comparatively ridiculous in his career, maybe a few mistakes here and there but he plays a character when he’s König. and König is all menace or indifference, never the pitiful thing that gets so wound up over his own purchase he’s got to destroy it at all costs. though in the time that he did have it… the soldiers around him are certainly aware that he had some ‘girlfriend’ he spoke rather highly of at home that always had her legs open for him. he never seemed in higher spirits, though…

Letters to Milena is sooo quotable for him. i will give you this one: “Auch ist es vielleicht nicht eigentlich Liebe wenn ich sage, daß Du mir das Liebste bist; Liebe ist, dass Du mir das Messer bist, mit dem ich in mir wühle.”

i have an entire ridiculous playlist that is just… all over the place with songs that remind me of him, perhaps i will give Sleep Token a chance and throw a few onto it! ^^ i am always looking out for König-coded songs… Never Land by Sisters of Mercy is possibly my favorite to suggest when it comes to him. <3 the full length is my go to but - a fragment encapsulates it almost as well!

burying you in a world of hugs right now, anon! pleeease send your weather my way! it is HOT here! your messages are vitamin C and a lovely cup of earl grey to me! <3 i am glad that you appeared!

[secret-bug-pain-blog]

@febuwhump Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you."

To anyone looking at this from the Dungeon Meshi tag - if you're anime-only, HERE THERE BE SPOILERS! If you've read the manga, the MAJOR spoilers are for Chapter 28 - plus a scattering of spoilers for later. This is a scene rewrite! Like the first time we've posted "just canon but from a different POV" also! We are counting internal monologue for that dialogue, and we are having Fun with it.

Watch your step, and we hope you enjoy.

From the instant that Marcille draws the first line of dragon's blood, she knows that she's gone too far to back out now.

There's a dreadful, solid certainty lodged in her chest as she brings her staff down, again and again. An awful sort of knowing, of

It's a unique kind of draining. Mana sickness is one thing, but this is another. Each line draws at something deep, deep inside of her soul, drawing more from her than she ever thought a spell could drain. She wants, so badly that it hurts, a sharp, desperate need for this to work. She dips her staff's handle in dragon's blood again, and she ignored the awful feeling of being bled to the bone. She's only ever theorized about dark magic before, never put it into practice herself - every line feels wrong, sickly, diseased, her staff scraping along the flagstones and funneling awful vibrations into her hands.

Every line she draws feels like a wretched, sickly sort of pain. Like picking at a wound that's only halfway scabbed over, half-clotted blood clinging to her fingernails as she picks at where her skin meets a gash, and scraping off the tiny, disgusting pieces of not-quite-scab onto a piece of paper. It's the worst thing she's ever done, and she hates it, every step of it, with a bubbling sense of revulsion that it feels like she'll never be clean of.

If she doesn't do this, then Falin will be dead. And Marcille doesn't want to live in a world where that's true.

She doesn't know how many runes it'll take, really. She knows the pattern, and that's enough - she just has to finish it. One rune, then another. She doesn't need to know how long.

The world, for what feels like a long time, is just her and the runes.

One, then the next. The future doesn't matter. The past is gone. She inks rune after rune in rotting, thickening blood, pausing to re-ink her staff when it runs dry. The only thing that matters is the next rune in the sequence, and it doesn't matter how long it takes. She has a thousand years to live ahead of her, a thousand years to spend doing anything she wants - she doesn't care how many of them she has to spend doing this, if it gives her Falin back. One rune, then the next.

Marcille reaches to dip her staff in dragon's blood a last time, and stops.

The circle is done.

Marcille is already horribly, horribly tired.

More than tired, really. Exhausted, a bone-deep ache in her chest like she's worked out a muscle she never knew that she had. She feels like she's on the brink of passing out, staring down at a circle of dragonblood runes that she's worn her staff's handle down to fraying roots from. The purpose in her chest that was so strong barely a minute ago is fading, flickering. Fatigue knocks into her like a truck, and she's swaying on her feet, struggling to cling on to consciousness.

She knows, more than she's ever known anything before, that she has to finish this.

She thinks of Falin, and she steels her will to move forward.

Pelvis, femur, humerus. Twelve rib bones, easy to tell apart. The vertebrae, the hands and feet - calcaneus, metatarsal, metacarpal. Eight carpal bones in the wrist, hamate, triquetrum, pisiform, lumate, trapezoid, trapezium, capitate, scaphoid. Falin's wrist bones are shorter than hers, shaped different in a way that's both subtle and the most obvious thing in the world. It's all she can do not to stop and stare at them, hypnotized by the broken remains of her friend - tallman bones, white and clean, so unfamiliar compared to Falin's soft frame, so much like the ones she's already seen buried.

She doesn't know what she'll do if Falin's soul has already left her body. She can't allow herself to entertain the idea of it. Falin will live, because she has to live, because she needs to- because Marcille can't let her die.

She lowers her staff, and she starts to chant.

She's doing this because she cares about her. Because she can't live without her. Because the very idea of trying to go on without Falin, after all this effort to find her, after all this effort to bring her back, is poison on her tongue, fire in her veins, a sickly death in the pit of her stomach. She's doing this because she cares about her, because she wants to talk to her again, because she wants to talk with her, to eat with her, to sit shoulder to shoulder with her as she talks about magic again.

She's doing this because she cares about Falin, so badly that it feels like her heart's started to rip itself apart in her ribcage - because she wants her back, because she wants to talk to her again, because she needs to hold her hand again and press her palm against her cheek and tangle her lanky, bony body around her soft tallman chest and hold her so tight that nothing else exists in the world. She's doing this because she needs Falin, with such strength that it nearly feels like she's drowning in her own skin with every moment she's away from her. She wants, so badly that she can barely keep herself from crumpling on the spot under the sheer weight of it.

Falin. Falin. Falin.

She chants her name in her head with every repetition of the spell, wanting, hoping, begging for this to work. The drain feels like she's cut a hole in her very soul, like she's bleeding out her lips with every word she speaks, like she's slicing holes in the vessel that holds all of her being. Falin, Falin, Falin - her soul to her body, the dragon's flesh to her bones, anything to make her whole again, anything to make her well again, anything.

She draws from the well, again and again, driving herself on sheer, desperate desire. Falin, a silent cry beneath the chorus of the spell. Falin, a desperate wish whispered into the darkness of the dungeon. Falin, Falin, Falin, she cries out, again and again, blind and deaf but for the runes carved into the stone. Falin, Falin, Falin, Falin, Falin-

Marcille is more exhausted than she ever has been, more exhausted than she ever knew was possible to be- she tastes bitter blood on her tongue as she chants. She draws from the well deep inside of herself, draws until it's dry and then beyond that, desperation and need driving her on and on and on. Falin, Falin- she digs deeper, deeper, past the well and into the ground beneath. She wants, she wants, she wants-

"Falin..." she starts. The words flicker on her tongue, abruptly uncertain and unclear. She knew what she was saying only a second ago, but now she struggles to put anything to words. The chant fades out, the words leaving her tongue - she can't remember why she was chanting them anymore, can't remember what she was doing. Her limbs feel weak, bowing under her body's weight, her willpower abruptly draining. Her fingers loosen on her staff, suddenly void of all drive they once possessed. She looks down, bleary-eyed, at rusty red runes drawn for a purpose she can't quite remember, and for a moment, there is nothing to her thoughts but the dull echo of a desire nearly entirely devoured.

And then she is unconscious, and she thinks no more.

[abbatoirablaze]

Racing Stripes, Season 2, Chapter 4

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: angst, some harsh words.

“Charles Leclerc!”

Charles looked over the women, his eyes trying to hone in on someone who clearly wasn’t there.  He knew who he was looking for while he mulled over the decision of which woman he was going to bring back to his room for the week. 

But he also knew that the girl that he wanted wouldn’t be in the line up.  

No, she was raising Daniels’ twin girls, in Australia.

Sheila was done being a motorsports girl.

“Mr. Leclerc?” one of the stewards asked, breaking the young driver from his thoughts, “it is your turn to pick.”

“Mon Petit.” He said with finality as he found a woman who looked like she had enough kindness inside of her to let him forget the world with her.  She gave him a soft smile as she joined his side, “Parler vous francais, mon petit?” (do you speak French, mon petit)

“Oui!” she replied softly with a nod, before keeping her eyes trained away from him, “amis je dois vous prevenir, Charles.  J’ai un petit ami.”  (But I must warn you, Charles.  I do have a boyfriend.)

His brow cocked, “N’ai-je pas le droit de te choisir.” (Am I not allowed to choose you?)

“Vous pouvez!” (you may). 

“Allons y.”

She nodded, linking her arm around the drivers, as she followed him out of the choosing ceremony.  The two of them walked in silence, and while mon petit had been used to that sort of treatment, Charles suddenly found himself feeling insecure, but he didn’t speak to her again until they got into the car, “I’m sorry about making you speak French in there.  But some of the others are pretty nosy.  And the only other one that knows French that was left was Stroll.”

“Oh…I’m sorry.” She frowned, “is there-is there something that you wished to say?”

“Don’t apologize,” he offered politely, tapping her hand, “Can I-Can I be honest with you?”

“I would prefer that you are!”

“I don’t want to have sex with you!” he said quickly.  Her brows raised and he instantly back-tracked when he saw just how surprised she’d looked, “I mean-not that I don’t want to have sex with you.  Y-you are a very gorgeous woman.  Very beautiful.  It’s just that-I-I’ve been going through somewhat of an emotional breakup…I wasn’t in a physical relationship with someone but-“

“Charles,” she said gently, cutting him off as she put her hands over his and looked him dead in the eyes.  Suddenly, he felt free, not caring about how his words sounded, because he knew that he wouldn’t be judged, “you do not have to explain yourself to me.  My job means that if a driver chooses me, I do what is asked.  Whether it’s simply talking, or yes, being more intimate with them.  It’s my job.  But do not feel as though you owe me an explanation or anything.  I just let drivers know that I am in a relationship as a precursor, because when it comes down to it, he and I have open communication.”

“I just want someone to talk to me,” he all but whispered shakily, “I-I don’t understand how this is supposed to work. I mean, I thought that I did, and I thought that she was falling in love with me.  I mean, I was falling in love with her…and she…you have to know that we had a good relationship.  But then she got with Daniel, or rather, they’d been on and off together the whole time.  I-I don’t know…but she-Sheila-”

“I know of Sheila, Charles,” she sighed softly, keeping his hands in her own, “you do not have to explain your situation, Charles…she’s a friend…despite me being in F3 at the time, I’m aware of your relationship with her.”

“How do you make it work?” he asked suddenly, “H-how do you separate out the feelings when you have a boyfriend?  How is he okay with you sleeping with other men most of the year?  Or-rather, how is it that you two make it work.  I mean, Sheila and Daniel make it seem effortless…and Lando is seeing Sugar.  And Sebastian and his wife-”

“Charles…stop,” she begged, cutting the driver off.  He stopped speaking and looked at her desperately for answers.  She frowned and shook her head, “I-it’s not that simple.  I mean, every relationship takes work.  And with my boyfriend, he’s in Formula 3.  Up until this season, I didn’t know that I was being pulled up to F1…granted, last season I was in F2, but that’s because I was dating one of the guys then.”

“You didn’t?”

“Team principals vote on the girls when there is openings,” she informed him, “if your division is running short, they have the option to pull up girls from the other divisions, or trade girls around so it’s not the same offering to the drivers, all of that stuff.  They all voted that I was to be pulled up from F3, despite being in a relationship with one of the drivers, because they thought more F1 drivers would want to choose me.  I thought that I was going to be in F3 with my boyfriend, and everyone pretty much has the understanding there to not choose me.  They’re pretty respectful of relationships in that division.  Like how Lewis chose Vetel’s wife for him.  Do you all not do that?”

“Not exactly.”

She frowned, “I’m sorry.  Sheila never quite went into the details of how drivers choose when she told me about things in this division.”

“But how do you and your boyfriend work through it?”

“We promised to always be open when we communicate with one another,” she said honestly, “we talk about what we want, and what we’re feeling.  And if it ever gets to a point where he doesn’t agree with it, or I feel like it’s wrong, then I’ll end my contract.  We want our relationship to work, but for that to happen, it takes effort.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she confirmed, “sometimes…when you believe you love someone, you have to be willing to take that jump into the unknown, Charles…you have to trust your partner.  Because if you don’t, what do you really have?”

“Are you sure that you have to go?”

She gave him a soft, sad smile and played with his hair, before pressing a soft kiss to his temple, “you need to rest, Charles.  We’ve been up all night talking about things.”

“I-I’m not even tired,” he said simply, a yawn sneaking past his lips.  She gave him a sneaky smile and tossed a candy wrapper at his chest, “really, I am not tired!”

“You are a horrible liar, Charles!” she giggled, “you need to get some rest before your flights.”

“What about you?” he asked, “I mean I’m not worried about me, mon petit. I’ve got a few hours before I leave for the airport and our next city.  I-“

“You might, but my tickets are still for the F3 division which means earlier flights, which means that my time is cut short with you.  At least for now,” she frowned, “I have to be at the airport soon, which means I have to leave now.”

“I’ll speak to my manager and make sure that they fix that.”

“You don’t have to,” she said sweetly, “I feel bad that I’m cutting into your time, but you’ll get some time without me.  And I can get some time in with my boyfriend.  Remember?  He’s in F3.”

“But they haven’t even really started yet,” he frowned, “Right now those kids are just taking up garage space.”

“Worry not, Charles…by the time you get to Italy, I will be checked in.  And you can see me again…you know, unless I’m on the beach, working on my tan.”

He chuckled, “I didn’t recall seeing any tan lines when we showered.”

“Only you would search for tan lines while saying we were having a non-sexual, platonic shower together to conserve water, Leclerc,” she teased, pressing another kiss to his cheek.  He smiled and wrapped his arms around her causing her to giggle and fall back onto the bed with him, “Charles.  I have to go.”

“Promise that I’ll see you in Italy.”

“You have two weeks between these races,” she laughed, “you’ll see plenty of me, Charles.”

“Fine,” he sighed, letting her go, just as his door opened.  She stared softly at him, still in his arms for a moment, before a voice cleared close to the door.  Charles looked up and smiled at his older brother, “Lorenzo…you are interrupting something here.”

She all but shot up as tension filled the room.

The eldest Leclerc brother was glaring at her, and for the life of him, Charles couldn’t figure out why.  He knew that Lorenzo didn’t particularly care for the motorsports girls, but he was exceptionally hostile with her.

“I should go.” She said, not daring to spare Charles another look, “I-I’ll see you when you get to Italy, Charles.”

“Yeah,” Lorenzo growled, “Don’t want to miss your flight.”

Charles’ brows furrowed as he watched his elder brother continue to glare at the motorsports girl until she collected her bags and left the room.

“What the hell was that?” he asked his older brother as he hopped off of the bed, “she is my motorsports girl and-“

“And, you chose her?” he scoffed, gesturing to the door, “Zayanna of all people?”

“Zayanna?”

“Mon petit,” he growled angrily, “You fucking chose her?”

“Do you know her or something?”

“Yeah, I was seeing her last year until I found out that she fucks drivers for money,” he spat, “she’s a fucking motorsports girl.”

“Yeah, I know.  I chose her,” he answered, “Wait…that was the girl that you were seeing last year?”

“Yeah!” he huffed.

“Bad blood, then?”

“She lied to me, Charles,” he grumbled, “she made me think she wasn’t what she is.”

“And what is she, Lorenzo?”

“A paid whore!” he spat.

“Hey,” Charles frowned, feeling awfully defensive of the woman that he barely knew, “I don’t know what sort of things happened between the two of you when you were with her, but she’s not just a paid whore, Lorenz.  She’s my guest, and when she’s with me, I don’t want you acting like that around her.”

“Great…so you’re fucking her now then?”

“Just so you know, we didn’t have sex,” Charles replied quickly, “we just talked.”

“Yeah…she’s good at using her mouth!” Lorenzo hissed.

“Hey…I’m serious,” Charles growled, grabbing his brother by the shoulder, “we were just talking.  She was talking to me about how she makes her relationship work inside of the FIA.”

Lorenzo’s brow lifted, “you know about A-“

“But if I was having sex with her, it would be none of your business.” He ended, cutting his older brother off.

Chapter 5

[polyklok]

your first ask (Murderface x reader) was incredible and so sweet 😭 can I request another Murderface but this time kind of the reverse situation, with him comforting an s/o who's feeling insecure (maybe about their own appearance?) Thanks! ❤

I’m so sorry it took me forever to answer this!! Life has been kicking my ass, but after a couple weeks it’s done! Had a lot of fun writing this (also, I heavily assumed this was another female reader)

TW: More swearing, physically-insecure reader, Murderface pervs for a little bit, lots of crying, also I’m posting this like 3 minutes after finishing it so it might be a little messy

You were unsure whether to laugh or cry, staring at yourself in the mirror in a ridiculous excuse of a dress. It had looked bad on the hanger, it felt bad as you put it on, but this was just…horrendous!

Tonight was stressful enough. Dethklok was having a party to celebrate their latest album release. Well, it was formal, so less of a party and more so a gathering of big-name executives, celebrities, and plenty of press. Press that would inevitably take pictures and ask questions of everyone there. Including you, for tonight would also be your first public appearance of Murderface’s ‘new’ girlfriend.

Charles had already warned you; you’d be surrounded with cameras, you’d be asked a thousand questions, your every movement would be documented, and the next day, there would be a critique of your every aspect online. The whole thought made you nauseous but William was excited to show you off, so you went with it.

Or…you would have if it weren’t for the dress that had been picked for you. Never before have you doubted Dethklok’s stylists; they had already done your hair and makeup so well! But the little number you were in was atrocious, to say the least.

It was made up of black leather that clung to your skin, hugging your breasts uncomfortably. The torso was covered in metal studs and spikes, making it impossible to place your arms in any natural position. The skirt was had a strange tutu effect, and yet was so short it nearly flashed your ass for the world to see. It was tacky, awkward, and completely informal! Maybe it would’ve worked as some sort of cheap, sexy Halloween costume in a bag…fit for a little girl.

Muddy, black tears began to creep down your cheeks. You held your head up high, desperate to not let them fall. How could master designers make…this?! There was no way something could fail so badly. Was it…you? You let out a pained sob, deciding that there was no way in hell you’d be leaving this room tonight.

“Hey, babe!”

You froze. Not him. Not now. You wiped away your tears, smudging your makeup further onto your face, “Uh, yeah William?”

“Are you ready? I wanna schow thosch fuckersch my girl!” You could see the shadows of his boots shuffle happily from underneath the door, his tone was so optimistic, especially compared to how he usually was about social events. It broke your heart.

“I-I’m sick! I suddenly caught a stomach bug. I’m sorry, but-“

“WHAT?”

He turned the doorknob so hard, the lock broke. You cringed; it was easy to forget just how strong Murderface could be. You yelped, “William!”

He stared at you, slightly impressed at first. Your thighs and cleavage were on full display. But, as his eyes trailed up to your face, teary and smeared with mascara, his heart fell like a rock into his stomach, “Babe?”

You hiccuped, trying to keep up your lie despite the obvious, “I’m si-ick.”

Murderface stood for a bit, unsure on what to do. His instinct yelled at him to protect you…but from what? He moved close, taking your hand in his and looking into your watery eyes. His chest hurt, seeing you so upset.

“I’m sorry,” You said, “I just can’t-“

“What’sch wrong?”

His voice was so soft, so concerned. You broke down, shoving your face into the crook of his neck, “I look so fucking stupid, William.”

He squeezed your torso, wanting to tell you all the sweetest, sappiest things but unable to find the words to do so. “It isch kinda a schtupid dresch,” He managed, feeling the random spikes and stiff leather. He didn’t have a knack for fashion, but if he looked past all the skin that it showed, he could see that it wasn’t the most…flattering outfit.

His reply made you chuckle in between your sobs, “I’m sorry, Murderface. I can’t do it,” You pulled back, looking at him, “Its more than the dress, it’s all those expectations! I don’t want to go out there, looking like this and being stared at and ruining your reputation because I wasn’t good enough!”

It felt good to say, to let out all the pressure. And yet, the fear doubled once you reached the realization. You weren’t ready. You loved Murderface, but he came with a price and you weren’t sure you could pay it.

“You, not good enougch?” He gasped, taking a step back, “You’re…fuchkin’ wonderful! My reputation isch’nt schit-“

“William, don’t.”

“Compared to…Urgch, lischen, I don’t really give a fuck about the fuchkin’ presch or anything. They’re aschholesch. It doesch’nt matter how dumb your dresch looksch or how you anschwer their fuggin’ questionsch, they’re probably gonna hate you.”

You sighed, slumping down onto your bed. Several pops emitted from the dress, giving some slack from the fabric. “So I’m fucked?”

He sat next to you, eyes focused on the floor. “But I really love you. Like, a lot. Scho…yeah, shcrew the goddamn presch.”

His face was beet red, hands gripping knees. While, his affection towards you was obvious (especially considering how he treated most others) he has never said those three words before.

“Oh, William.”

Murderface tugged at his tie and kicked off his boots, “Fuchk it. Charlesch’ll yell at me later. I don’t wanna do this schit without you.”

“You don’t have to-“

“Schut up, I’m going to.”

You smiled, eyes still sore from all your crying and face sticky with makeup, “I love you too, Murderface.”

[gutspiller]

blue diner

read it on ao3 here

you're a fae, or something unfamiliar of the sort, and quest's curiosity gets a quick hold of him when he sees you wandering.

you take a chance at fate.

Tear stains crawl down your cheeks, drying before they hit your collarbone. You sprint across the garden, legs wobbly with fear and straight adrenaline. You’re being chased, you fear.

Upon seeing the human’s face for another time, you cry out, falling into the dirty pond water. You cough, lifting yourself back up onto a fairly-sized lilypad. There’s nothing you can do, you think, he’s already seen me.

You shriek whilst choking up water, crawling back into the grove desperately. Your eyes are wide as saucers, and all you can think to do is hide . Hide back in the lavender trees, back under the willows and the blossoms up top the lily pads where you daren’t lead a fairy hunter.

The hunter’s face peers through your sanctuary, donning a vexed face. “Hey, wait!” The man yells, pushing back daisies to see you. His face is oddly kind-looking, a concerned furrow settling between his brows. “Um,” He stumbles, “My name is Quest–! I’m not trying to hurt you,”

Panicking seeing the hunter– Ugh, “ Quest”, inch back towards you, you squeal out of fear, rattling your head back and forth in useless defiance.

After a long silence of nothing but cicadas and fireflies buzzling in the humid pond air, Quest whispers a gentle inquiry.

“What are you?”

His voice is sweet. It’s calm, unlike the hunters you often see prodding around at these parts. The man’s mouth is dying to curl up into a smile, but he’s biting his lip to prevent it.

You don’t want to be tempted, but you are. You can’t help it– his gentle expression and soft demeanor pulls you in like a boat to it’s dock.

“...What do you think I am?” Your wings bat against your shoulder blades softly, glittering pixie dust on the dirt below when they touch. Quest’s eyes narrow in frustration, but soften at the sight of your unmarred expression. You purse your lips together, and flit your eyes to your right shyly.

He doesn’t respond, instead lifting an unsure hand. “May I..” Quest starts, before creasing his eyes in harmless curiosity.

“Touch your wings?” You shrink back for a second, before itching at your arms nervously. You’d never let anyone other than a few pests brush up against your wings, but it was starting to entice you, to let him in your world.

It feels so wrong, so inconceivably wrong ..that it’s right. “Okay.”

Putting all your trust in this stranger, you think, is simply laughable. To think you’ve been so barred off for your entire life, and the first time you meet someone even the slightest bit of nice, you snap and bend and curl to his will.

The second his big, soft hands land on your wings, you shiver, flexing your back on instinct. His touch is nice, but cold, and cold is often not around your place of inhabitance.

Your face flushes pink at every bend his fingers glide across, squirming under his touch. It almost feels indulgent, leaving your guard behind. But as you’re feeling his skin, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

His semi-calloused, scarred skin feels like fresh rose petals out of a garden. You feel sacred under his hold, despite the clumsy shifts that often occur.

Something is blooming under your skin, leaving fleeting emotions at bay.

You fear you won’t be able to keep it inside.

[melishade]

Not sure if you were asked by this question but what kind of theme song would you put for your story and the different timelines?

Oh I have talked extensively about putting certain songs in AOP, but I was never asked to talk about the different timeline.

First time for everything right?

Dark Timeline

So the Dark Timeline is a timeline of dread and horror. You think of something like devastation because Shockwave is that much of a monster who will defy the laws of everything just because he fucking can.

So something like this would be the main theme:

Shockwave is just a force that can't be stopped. This is the music that I would want for the Dark Timeline

(Also check out Samuel Kim. He's great)

Revenge Timeline

Well kind of obvious, it's gotta be a revenge song, like Hell's Comin With Me or Wolf in Sheep's Clothing. But Starscream is the Prince of Vos. His theme has to be classy in his eyes and show his obsession in destroying Megatron and Optimus and ruling the galaxy. So something like this revenge playlist:

Chaos Timeline

Soundwave is also out for revenge, but there also betrayal laced in those story because Megatron and Soundwave have a much deeper connection compared to all the other Decepticons. But Soundwave is also a professional spymaster who's heavily reliant on technology. So his theme would also have some sort of techno vibe to it. Maybe like the darker version of Miguel's theme in Across the Spiderverse or Spot 2.0.

Can't Pretend by Tom Odell is a good one but it's not techno.

War Timeline

It's just all the themes from both TFP and AOT just being played. Although Amalee's cover of Guren No Yumiya is a perfect song for the War Timeline because of the techno elements to it.

Beloved Timeline

Any song that deals with soulmates, reuniting lovers, all that soft shit. Because both Optimus and Elita thought they would never see each other again until they became one with the Allspark. So to be reunited again, there's no greater feeling than that.

So something like Han Zimmer's One Day from Pirates of the Carribean. Or the first half of Epic III from Hadestown (I love that musical)

Although the songs after Optimus and Elita reunite and slowly learn more about each other and fall in love all over again are songs like this:

Or this (Cody Fry is awesome)

Deity Timeline

So Predaking is seen as a god by the people of Hizuru, which is something that he's wanted: to be treated with respect. Would he be someone with a god complex? Maybe. Predaking at the end of the day is a cloned, traumatized, two-year-old trying to find his place in the world. So there would have to be a theme that would show his power, but at the same time show hints of vulnerability in the melody or something.

Maybe something like this:

But this theme is more for someone who is a villain and Predaking's more of an anti-hero in the Deity Timeline. The idea of what I mentioned is still there.

However, I would like to imagine that whenever Predaking takes someone flying, its a way that he's slowly opening up his spark to the world and the music for that would be more hopeful if that makes sense.

Peaceful Timeline

The Peaceful Timeline is all about love, healing, growth, moving forward, etc. It's about broken people learning to heal with each other's help. It's about Ymir getting the peaceful life she so desperately deserved. It's about Optimus learning to be selfish for once and Megatron learning to be kind. So I can create a huge ass list-! But here are songs that I think fit and I've already thought about using.

For Ymir's wedding lol

Take it out on me by One Republic

And that's it for now. I had to really think about this one, but I enjoyed it.